Guarding and Protecting
by Shellie Williams
Summary: Gibbs reflects while sitting vigil over McGee and the rest of his team in a hospital room. Short, one shot


2

**Guarding and Protecting**

**Shellie**

**Disclaimer: The characters and places of NCIS do not belong to me. No money or profit was made from this snippet.**

Scrapes and cuts peppered his pale skin, crosshatching his face like bizarre shadings from an artist's pencil. He lay still in a medicated sleep, lashes feathering a gray blackness beneath his eyes. A nasal cannula traced a path from under his nose around to the back of his ears and below his chin. Tiny stitches marched across his full lower lip, little black line soldiers ordered to hold together the ragged cut that sharp knuckles had torn.

A fold appeared at the bridge of his nose when he frowned in his sleep. His head rolled on his pillow, turning toward Gibbs. The older agent stood from the chair he'd felt planted in a moment ago -- the aches and pains of sitting for too long were stifled as his concern magnified.

"Tim?" Using McGee's given name felt strange rolling off his tongue. Realization that he'd resort to calling his teams' first names only in case of dire emergency, or urgent concern, drifted fleetingly through his mind.

McGee shifted on the hospital bed. His lips parted and a wisp of a moan ghosted out. Such vulnerable weakness laced the sound, that it twisted something deep inside Gibbs. He could never describe the dichotomy of helplessness and rage that swept over him when one of his team members were injured, but he was well aware of the emotions as they surged through him.

He'd held McGee in his arms, projecting a patience and assurance he didn't feel, murmuring nonsense words while waiting for the ambulance to arrive. Tony and Ziva had stood at the perimeter, eyes and guns ready in case they'd missed a straggler in the shootout. Blood ran dark and glistening from Tony's shoulder where he'd taken a hit. Ziva's hair sprang wild and free from her head. The usual ringlets, tucked neatly behind her ear, had become disheveled as she'd raced through the warehouse, targeting enemies like a teenager at a carnival shooting gallery.

Now the two sat, deep in their own versions of sleep, on the couch and extra bed. Ziva lay curled on her side, arm tucked beneath her head. The small, white fingers of her other hand clenched the sheets beside her, yet a sense of alertness still hummed through the deceptively calm lines of her body. Tony's long form draped across the stuffed chair in the corner. Head thrown back, open mouth emitting a soft snore now and then, he exuded relaxation. He looked as if he were just taking a short nap, except for the stark while bandage wrapped around his upper arm, gleaming through the torn shirtsleeve.

Gibbs smiled and shook his head. He wasn't fooled. He'd seen them in action too many times to believe either of them was as deeply asleep as they appeared. With McGee hurt, the other two stayed close, guarding and protecting. He knew they heard every noise and voice, categorizing everything -- and when that one small unfamiliar sound intruded, they'd be awake within a heartbeat.

Bringing his gaze back to McGee, Gibbs sighed quietly and settled back into his chair, scooting it closer to the hospital bed. They'd won again. True, they were hurt and a bit ragged, but McGee had come through surgery fine, and the doctors assured Gibbs the rookie agent would make a full recovery. Tony's arm would be sore, but he'd be fine, too. Ziva -- well, Ziva was Ziva. Nothing seemed to faze her. To an outsider nothing seemed to get past the wall of aloofness she'd erected between herself and the rest of them, but Gibbs knew better. He'd seen it in the way she teased Tony, and smiled at McGee. She'd practically fallen all over herself trying to get on Abby's good side. Ziva was becoming part of the family, whether she admitted it to herself or not.

Leaning back, finding a comfortable spot in a truly uncomfortable chair, Gibbs watched them through half-closed eyes. McGee sighed in his sleep, almost a moan. Instead of standing, Gibbs reached out and touched his arm. McGee quieted, and his breathing deepened. Hospital sounds faded and blended into the background. Guilt took a back seat to exhaustion, and Gibbs followed his team into oblivion.

**The End**


End file.
